


Under Contract

by niliria



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-10 13:17:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5587108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niliria/pseuds/niliria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Donna stared with an appraising glance. Bent over, the stringbean, er, her employer, did have quite a rear. It was pleasantly rounded and sculpted. But that ego and chatter! And his frame- much too thin. He was positively swimming in his clothing. Also, was this addendum even legal? She tapped the end of the pen against her pursed lips once then twice. She signed her name.</p><p>I, Donna Noble, will not attempt to seduce or romance the employer, John Smith.</p><p>Game on, beanpole.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under Contract

The rocks from the barely paved roads weaved themselves in and out of the plastic wheels of her cheaply made suitcase and her hand ached, skin rubbed raw from the handle rocking unsteadily within her tight grasp. She stomped on. The cabbie had chewed obnoxiously on his gum, smacking his lips together the entire hour and a half drive and the sound of spit rolling around in his mouth its soundtrack. Then, suddenly, he had stopped the car a good two or three miles from her actual destination. _End of the line_ , he had said with an apathetic shrug of the shoulders and an infuriating final smack of his lips. Then he kicked her out and drove away without a look back, leaving her spluttering and short of breath. She had thrown her shoe at the cab as it faded from her view. The _nerve_! She spat. _He better choke on it!_

Nature caked her heels and tights about her calves, as she continued to walk, in a mockery of a pointillist painting. Still, with her back ramrod straight, Donna Noble stomped on. She huffed her ginger locks out of her eyes, fighting the wind, the leaves burrowing themselves into her hair, and everything else ruining her first-day-on-the-job getup.

It really couldn't get much worse.

Eventually, she arrived at 76 Totters Lane. She stopped in front of the driveway, following the winding pavement up to the little cabin with her eyes. She groaned, stamping her feet and crushing some imaginary source of all her misfortune to pieces with her heels. Of _course_.

Spider webs, _check_.

Rotting logs, _check_.

Chipping paint, poor cell reception, and no help for miles, _check, check and check_.

 _For fucks sake!_ She did not become a middle-aged divorcee to die in a tiny murdery cabin the middle of the _fucking woods_ as a _temp_. She sighed and glanced at the empty road. _I wouldn't be surprised if a bloody tumbleweed appeared._

Inhaling, she gathered herself and grit her teeth. _C’mon old gal, you've got this._ She took out her compact, extracting foliage from her hair, or at least enough so she didn't blend in with the trees, touched up her lipstick, smoothed her skirt, and made her way up the driveway.

Her alabaster skin contrasted sharply against the French doors, a soothing deep blue, as she rapped her knuckles against them. They opened promptly and a hand immediately struck out and grabbed onto Donna’s, shaking it furiously.

“Hello! You must be Donna Noble, the most important person in the world, at least to me at this instant! I’m John Smith, or you may know me better by my pseudonym, ‘The Doctor.’ Several times Sunday Times Bestseller List, mostly dabbling in science-fiction...”

She blinked. Did he ever breathe? He spoke with an unstoppable manic energy, face contorting wildly to match the intonations of his speech. _He’s a nutter, an absolute nutter_. Her too-short life flashed before her eyes.

“...but don’t let me prattle on about myself! Tell me about you, Donna Noble, all the wonderful details about you.” His whirlwind of words ceased beating against her frame. Now a rapt audience, his hazel eyes were a trained spotlight on her face. Youthful excitement radiated from him, akin to a child on Christmas morning.

 _Act normal Donna!_ A red flush stained her cheeks under his oppressive curiosity. She started sweating.

She removed her hand from his warm grasp quickly, wiping the sweat on her skirt. Was he serious or was this a ploy to catch her off guard so he could do murdery things to her? Disheveled and bedraggled upon first glance, she would have closed the door on herself and deadbolted it. She avoided smiling- no need to look any crazier- and spoke. “Yes I’m Donna Noble, from Chiswick. Erm, the temp agency said you needed a typist. I can type 100 words per minute but that’s about it, really, nothing special.”

“No.” He drew out the ‘O,’ while shaking his head. Something flickered in his eyes, aging him, before he blinked it away and reverted to his boyish demeanor. “What I see is a lot of potential.”

“Well,” she paused, “that’s very kind of you.”

He continued to stare at her, clearly expecting her to say more. She shifted her weight in an awkward shuffle. There wasn’t much else to say and the silence was as heavy as his gaze. She felt scrutinized, like a specimen under a microscope. She jutted out her hip, crossed her arms protectively around herself and tried to radiate confidence.

The wind blew and she shivered pitifully, despite herself.

“Oh! Where are my manners, please come in!”

 _Moment of truth_. She clenched her fists and stepped inside.

He picked up her bag as she entered the cabin, bringing it in before shutting the wooden doors... which Donna promptly opened again, shoving him roughly to the side and sticking her head out, back in, then out once more.

The outside was still rather glum looking, save the doors, with cobwebs fluttering in the wind, and the relative size of the cabin didn’t appear to have changed. She gasped, hands flying to her mouth- it was much bigger on the inside.

“Yes, that tends to be the first order of operations.” The Doctor chuckled, having recovered from being pushed aside. He carried Donna’s luggage past her and set it down next to a couch. He leaned against it and waited mildly for her to finish swiveling her head about the space.

Magic? A trick? Some sort of illusion? For once, words would not come. Warmth emanated from the golden-brown interior, as if the place was humming with pleasant energy. Her eyes trailed up the walls, which were impossibly dome-shaped despite the rectangular exterior, down and around the curvilinear cement posts, and came to rest on the metallic hexagonal wallpaper glittering brightly at her. The word ‘Safe,’ came unbidden into her mind. The cabin was a warm embrace, a hand running soothingly through her hair, untangling the day’s woes. “It’s lovely.” she breathed and she swore the cabin tittered appreciatively.

“Glad you like it. I assure you, she shares the sentiment. Now if you’ll follow me to the kitchen.”

Her fears inexplicably assuaged, she followed his lanky form, occasionally bumping into some furniture as she gawked at her new lodgings.

“Before we start, there's a contract I need you to read very thoroughly and sign.” He gestured towards the table, face still stuck in a genial smile. “I'll get you some tea in the meantime.”

Donna sat down and scanned the papers. It was pretty standard paperwork detailing the specifics of the job and the expected NDAs. She was to be a live-in typing assistant for a trial period of a month with possibility for extension based on performance, her salary was X amount of pounds, her hours structured around Mr. Smith’s needs, etcetera, etcetera. The only thing really out of place was the extra rules included in Part C of Section III.

“Erm, Mr. Smith-”

“Please, call me John or Doctor.”

“Right. Doctor, could you clarify this bit here, where it says, ‘I, _employee name_ , will not attempt to seduce or romance the employer, John Smith? Failure to comply will result in immediate termination.’”

He laughed sheepishly, blushing as they made eye contact. “It's sort of complicated to explain. My last two assistants, well, let's just say feelings became involved and it devolved spectacularly. What I need, Ms. Noble, is a mate.”

Her eyebrows joined her hairline; he flushed even brighter and threw his arms forwards, shaking his hands in a “this-is-a-great-misunderstanding” sort of gesture. “No, no, no, no, no, no, not a mate like that! Just a mate. I need an assistant Ms. Noble, but I'd like us to be mates as well, as we will be sharing a space together for a time...but only mates. Does that clear it up?”

A small scoff bubbled in her chest. He was just like any other bloke- _oh woe is me, all the women love me. Ugh_ , there weren’t supposed to be any of those once she left her twenties. She crossed her arms, leveling an incredulous stare at him. “And should _you_ cross the line?”

The blush spread out from the Doctor’s cheeks to his neck and ears. His mouth opened and closed and the wires in his brain short circuited audibly. Clearly he had never considered the possibility that he could develop feelings for his assistants. The Doctor shoved his hands into his pockets, and curled into himself, at least having the decency to look ashamed. “I’m afraid the outcome would be the same.”

Donna huffed. Of course. She jut her chin out, still challenging him. Time ticked on without a word or an action from either of them. Finally, the kettle whistled and the Doctor practically jumped, shoulders relaxing at the excuse to break eye contact. “Well then, uh, I'll finish putting on the tea.” He turned right quick, flipping the switch to turn the kettle off, then bent down to grab the milk from the fridge.

Donna stared with an appraising glance. Bent over, the stringbean, er, her employer, did have quite a rear. It was pleasantly rounded and sculpted. But that ego and chatter! And his frame- much too thin. He was positively swimming in his clothing. Also, was this addendum even legal? She tapped the end of the pen against her pursed lips once then twice. She signed her name.

I, _Donna Noble_ , will not attempt to seduce or romance the employer, John Smith.

 _Game on, beanpole_.

**Author's Note:**

> Complete for now, until the plot bunny strikes again.


End file.
